Top Fuel Thunder Ch. 01

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are 18 years or older when in sexual situations.

Chapter One

It was late afternoon on a lazy wine country weekend. The tranquility was punctuated with an enormous, billowing, mother of all noises, harkening to the clarion call of the dinosaurs in the Jurassic Park movies. It was the deafening roar produced by two fire breathing top fuel dragsters as they rocketed down the 1,000 foot strip. The dragster in the right lane, number 37, hit the finish line a hundredth of a second ahead of the one on the left. As the parachute deployed, the winning dragster jerked, and then rolled to a stop. Two track attendants ran out to help the driver out of the protective tub of the dragster. The driver stood on the hot asphalt, pulling the elaborately painted helmet off and shaking her long blonde hair, the strands floating to rest on her gleaming white racing suit. Her head mechanic, Ray Townsend, approached her with his iPad in one hand and a bottle of cold water in the other.

"Not bad. 3.8 seconds. Top speed of 315 miles per hour. Your reaction time was good. About three one-hundredths of a second from the green to your launch. You should qualify for the finals," he said, smiling at the accomplishment and relieved that his last minute adjustments to the engine's timing paid off.

"It was straight and true." Sherrie clutched the water bottle and gave Ray a kiss on the cheek. "I know better than to second guess your set-up." She gulped the water and unzipped the front of her suit, exposing a sweat soaked undergarment. She got into the track's ATV and was given a ride to the pit area under the watchful eyes of tens of thousands of cheering fans and the overhead closed circuit television cameras. As she was stepping out of her protective suit she noticed two women standing in the corner of her pit area wearing pit passes around their neck. Although they were both young and attractive, the brunette caught her eye. She motioned for the women to come over to talk to her.

Rachel had never been to a drag race. Her friend Naomi worked in the marketing department of the race track and was given two seats in the grandstands and pit passes by her supervisor as a thank you for the hard work she did on the ticket sales campaign. Naomi of course invited her best friend to the event, not knowing if she'd be interested. Rachel was interested. She had heard that a number of the top fuel drivers were women. Rachel was a relatively avid sports fan and was looking forward to seeing a sport where men and women competed side by side. Because women have excellent reaction times, they have broken into a sport traditionally dominated by men. Shirley Muldowney was one of the pioneering women in the sport, notching 18 wins in the top fuel category. Many women have followed in her wake, the most recent star being Sherrie Lansing, a 25 year old phenom hailing from Buffalo, New York. This was her tenth appearance at the Grand Nationals, and the fifth time she had made the finals in her class.

Sherrie always had a fascination with cars and with speed. Perhaps it was her father, who owned a '67 GTO, and took it occasionally to the track, or perhaps it was her three older brothers, two of whom were involved in amateur racing and autocross. In any event, Sherrie came from a car loving family and was hooked on the adrenaline of hitting the red line while flooring the accelerator. Sherrie started with midget racers, then dirt tracks, until she was spotted by Ray Townsend as an 18 year old who was driving and holding her own against older and more experienced drivers. Ray was impressed by Sherrie's steely nerves and instincts on the track. He approached her, and eventually convinced her to switch to dragsters, with the hope of graduating to top fuel.

Sherrie's ascent was a quick one. She was a fast learner, and in two short years was a back-up driver on the top fuel national circuit, and the recent retirement of one of Ray's drivers vaulted Sherrie in the lead driver's seat. Five years later she was one of the top drivers in the sport, having already won two events and earned a place on the podium in five others.

Sherrie was one of the most popular drivers on the circuit. Aside from being ranked in the top ten, she was gorgeous to boot, with long, straight honey blonde hair, generous breasts, a narrow waist flaring out to sexy wide hips and long legs. Her home base was still in Buffalo, and she had a longtime girlfriend there, although lately with Sherrie's travel schedule the relationship was strained to the breaking point. It didn't help that Sherrie had a wandering eye and a magnetic personality.

Working for the track, Naomi couldn't help but be a fan of top fuel. She was well acquainted with Sherrie Lansing's meteoric ascent in the sport and was impressed when she met the driver at the track's reception the previous night. When Sherrie's race was over, she wanted to go to the pit area to see if she and Rachel could get a glimpse of her.

Sherrie was in the pits with the top of her racing suit unzipped, looking over her tech's shoulder as he was scanning reams of data on his laptop that was downloaded from her last run. She was still on an adrenaline fueled high when she spotted Rachel. She thought the young brunette was cute, and crooked her finger to draw the women to her. Rachel was confused. Was that goddess signaling to her? Rachel pointed to herself with eyebrows raised. Sherrie smiled and nodded. Naomi saw the interaction between Rachel and the driver. She thought Rachel was attractive as well, and knew that Sherrie had a reputation for chasing the ladies. Naomi took Rachel's hand and pulled on it to walk with her across the pit area to meet Sherrie.

"C'mon Rach. Sherrie Lansing wants to meet you," she whispered in her friend's ear. "I can't fucking believe it."

Rachel and Naomi tried to be calm, but neither could contain their excitement as they approached Sherrie. The thunderous pounding of two more dragsters shook the pit area as the woman stood in front of the blonde, who was now sitting in a folding chair, slipping off the legs of her racing suit.

From a sitting position, her suit now lying on the pit floor in a heap, Sherrie looked up at the two women. A smile of recognition crossed her face as she saw Naomi. She recalled Naomi was the marketing person she had met at the reception that was thrown by the track owners the previous evening. Sherrie was practiced at remembering names, and startled Rachel's companion.

"Naomi, is it?" Sherrie asked.

"Why ... yes. You remembered me from last night?" asked the awestruck perky redhead.

"Of course, I thought you were cute." Sherrie was feeling flirtacious, even though it was her intention to flirt with Rachel. Naomi wasn't into women, the compliment nevertheless made her blush.

"How about introducing me to your shy friend?" Sherrie pointed to Rachel, who had now edged her way behind Naomi. Naomi tugged on Rachel's blouse to have her move next to her.

"This is my good friend Rachel. She works at a winery tasting room not far from here."

Sherrie raised an eyebrow. "Wine? Now we're talking. Where do you work Rachel?" The blonde was interested in the answer, but was also buying time so she could drink in the sight of a twenty-something woman with almost luminescent golden skin, long straight light brown hair and a short curvy body.

"Domaine Rouen, it's a sister winery to the one located in France." Rachel was trying to stay composed, but telling herself that she was failing.

Sherrie smiled. "I like their wine. I'm pretty sure I've had their Rhone blend."

Rachel relaxed slightly. "I'd be happy to arrange a private tasting for you."

"I'd like that. I'll tell you what. After I win the final heat, come by the pit area. I'll show you the track, and maybe we'll grab a drink." Sherrie turned to Naomi. "I hope you understand."

Naomi quickly figured out she was a third wheel. She came up with a convenient excuse. "I've got a date tonight, so you guys have fun." She turned around to leave, but before she did so she mouthed the words "you lucky dog" for Rachel's eyes only.

Sherrie waved Ray over. "Ray, could you do me a favor and get Rachel a pass to our box?"

Ray looked at Rachel first, gave Sherrie a knowing look and a "thumbs up" sign, and left the pit area.

"He should be back in a minute. You'll be more comfortable in our box. Ray will come and get you and bring you the winner's circle when I win this last heat."

Wide-eyed, Rachel looked at this dynamic, gorgeous blonde, at the peak of her racing career, and wondered why she was picked out of the crowd. She didn't think she was overly attractive and if anything, looked young for her tender 23 years. But Sherrie saw something different. Rachel's fine Eurasian features were both beautiful and exotic to her, and her compact, curvy body was enticing. Rachel was primed for a new adventure, having broken up with her last girlfriend over three months ago.

Ray returned with the VIP pass for the skybox, gave it to Rachel, and then started engaging in conversation with Sherrie about her next race. Rachel waved goodbye (not knowing if Sherrie really saw her) and left the pit area. She looked at the VIP pass printed on heavy, colorful stock and slung the lanyard around her neck. Excited, Rachel went to the roped off area of the grandstands that contained the elevators to the skyboxes. She proudly presented the pass to the attendant, who examined it and then casually pointed to the elevators.

"Press 4," he said before going back to his magazine.

Rachel was a bit deflated at the attendant's lack of appreciation for her golden ticket, but shrugged it off and got into the elevator. She was alone in it as it hummed on the way to the fourth floor. The doors opened to a long hallway with doors on one side and a wall of windows on the other overlooking the vast parking lot and concession stands teeming with people. The young brunette looked at the number on each door until she came to number 8, the suite number on her pass. She knocked on the door and an attractive blonde who was vaguely familiar opened the door. She was wearing a shirt with the track logo. Her eyes brightened when she saw Rachel.

"You must be Rachel. I'm friends with Naomi. I'm Heather." She extended her hand.

Rachel shook her hand, now recognizing Heather as someone she had met at one of Naomi's party. "Thank you for having me here."

"Well, any friend of Naomi is a friend of mine. Did Naomi give you a pass for this box?"

"No, I'm a guest of Sherrie Lansing."

The bouncy blonde gave Rachel a more careful once over and became even more deferential. "So you're one of Sherrie's girls?" The tone of her voice implied a friend with benefits.

Rachel was surprised at the insinuation, but in a strange way flattered. "Not at all. I just met her ten minutes ago."

The blonde gave her a knowing smile. "I'm sure Sherrie has her reasons." She led Rachel into the skybox. "You can sit in any of the seats here," she said, pointing to three rows of seats behind the glass. Some of the seats already had people sitting in them, although the majority of the people in the box were standing with drinks in their hands. Rachel decided to go to the bar and get a drink. She got into a line behind a few people. The man in front of her turned around.

"Hi. I haven't met you before. I'm Andre Brodeur, the general manager of the track." He was a tall man, at least six foot, with salt and pepper hair, lean and well-dressed. He gave Rachel a genuine smile and a handshake.

"Rachel Carbonneau, and I'm pleased to meet you."

Andre's ears perked up upon hearing Rachel's last name. "Are you French?"

"On my father's side. His parents are from Bordeaux. My mother's Japanese," she replied proudly.

"My parents are from Lyon. Have you been to France?"

"Not since I was a kid. I'd like to go back," she replied wistfully.

Andre was next up at the bar. He turned to Rachel, "So what are you having?"

"A glass of red wine would be great." Andre pointed to a bottle behind the bar, a reserve bottling that Rachel recognized. The bartender poured a glass and handed it to Rachel.

"So what brings you to our box?" Andre asked politely.

"Sherrie Lansing invited me."

His reaction mirrored that of Heather's. "You've just met her, right?" He was a bit smug because he knew he was right.

"Uh huh," Rachel replied, feigning boredom, although in truth she was horrified and flattered at the same time. Was she just a groupie? Was she better looking than she thought? Why did she catch the eye of a gorgeous catlike person who strutted around in a man's racing suit and played in a man's game?

As she was pondering these questions, Rachel noticed that all of the people were gravitating towards the seats. Rachel found one, next to Andre of course, and leaned forward to see the track. She scanned to the left, and posted on the large tower on the track's infield was number 37. That was Sherrie's number. Andre handed a pair of earplugs to Rachel, who promptly put them in. As the cars neared the starting line, both cars engaged in their burn out, spewing fire, creating a large cloud of smoke, and making one of the loudest noises on the planet. The observation glass reverberated as the cars revved their engines. Rachel's heart started to beat fast, fast enough for her to notice it despite the deafening noise and the cheering crowd.

Rachel looked up at one of the monitors to watch the cars back up and then inch forward to the starting line, come to a rest, and then watched the tree go from red to green, followed by the thunderous roar of the engines, the spinning of the tires, and then acceleration that took her breath away. The entire 1000 feet was covered in a blink of an eye, and then the chutes were deployed as the cars came to a rest. The winner was posted. Number 37. 3.73 seconds, her personal best and just short of the world record. Rachel watched intently as the car was towed to the pits. Sherrie was no doubt making her way to the winner's circle, to be surrounded by her adoring fans. Rachel wondered if she would ever see Sherrie again.

The people started vacating their seats after Sherrie's race, the last event of the day. Half of the box emptied out as Rachel was plotting how to get home and apologize to Naomi for abandoning her. She was deep in thought about her next move when she was tapped on the shoulder.

"Rachel?" A man no older than Rachel with a gray shirt with an embroidered "Team Lansing" logo sewed on the breast. His voice trembled a bit as it was clear he had no idea what Rachel looked like. He was relieved when Rachel said yes. "Ray sent me. I'm to take you to the winner's circle. Sherrie will see you after the pictures are taken."

Rachel's heart started pounding again as she followed the man down the elevator and then through a throng of fans that mobbed the winner's circle. They fought their way through to a small building next to the podium so they were both standing to the side of the stage. Rachel could see the presentation of the winner's cup, which Sherrie hoisted over her head to the roar of her fans. Still wearing her racing suit, but with her hair down and brushed, she looked every bit the beautiful woman with nerves of steel. She took the ceremonial jerobaum of champagne and sprayed the crowd. She spotted Rachel standing to the side of the podium and directed the spray toward her, soaking her hair and blouse. Rachel was caught up in the moment, whooping and hollering as a cascade of champagne showered her. Sherrie drank from the bottle and then, soaked in champagne, posed for pictures with the winner's cup. Sherrie motioned to Rachel to get up on stage with her. A man helped her up, and to the delight of the crowd they saw an attractive young woman, soaked to the skin so her well filled out bra was clearly visible through the gauzy fabric of her blouse. Rachel felt like a deer in the headlights, being unexpectedly thrust into the spotlight of hundreds of fans and the media. Sherrie was six inches taller than Rachel and towered over her as the two stood side by side.

Sherrie knew that Rachel would be dazzled by the attention and drew her arm around the brunette, pulling her close for a long, passionate kiss. Rachel couldn't help but bend to Sherrie's will, parting her lips and allowing their tongues to perform an erotic dance in a very public place. Rachel almost swooned, and it was only Sherrie's strong arm that prevented her from falling backwards. Rachel had never felt a heat so intense in such a short amount of time.

Before waving to the fans one last time, Sherrie whispered, "I knew I wanted you from the first moment I saw you." Rachel floated back to earth, feeling Ray tug on her arm.

"Come with me," he said, as he led Rachel off the stage. "Sherrie is going to change and she'll be with you in a few minutes." The two of them found shelter in the small building, with Rachel taking a seat on a plastic lawn chair. Ray handed her a bottle of water. Even though it was edging into night, the evening air was still warm and the heat radiating off of the asphalt made the cold water welcome. Rachel slouched in the chair, sipping the cold water and reflecting on Sherrie's impromptu kiss. It was one of the best moments in her young life.

Rachel lost any notion of time as she sat in a plastic chair in a small building surrounded by strangers. As people filtered away from the podium, she soon found herself alone. She got up and looked outside, to see the parking lot now jammed with cars waiting to exit the race course. It was now pitch black outside, the sun having given way to the harsh artificial light of the track's outside sodium lights, and it started to get cold, making Rachel shiver in her champagne soaked clothing. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned. It was Sherrie, now wearing an unzipped dark brown leather bomber jacket, a scoop neck white tee, skinny jeans and ankle high calfskin leather boots. She had a glint in her eye as she saw Rachel, her eyes travelling downward to see Rachel's nipples poking prominently into her bra and wet blouse.

"Sorry for taking so long. The reporters and the fans blocked my way out of my trailer. Let me take you back there and get you some dry clothes." She took her leather jacket off and draped it over Rachel's shoulders and led her towards her trailer. As they walked past the grandstands there were still a number of fans milling about, and before long they were surrounded by people seeking autographs and pictures. Sherrie was ever accommodating, and Rachel patiently stood to the side as Sherrie waded through a growing throng of admirers.

Rachel found that the word trailer was a misnomer for Sherrie's accommodations. It was easily twice the size of Rachel's apartment and much more luxuriously appointed. There was a large bathroom with a generously sized shower.

"Let's go out and celebrate. But before we do so, how about you take a shower? I'll find you a new t-shirt. Fortunately your jeans aren't that wet. Can you still wear them?"

Still star struck, Rachel nodded her head.

As Sherrie closed the bathroom door, Rachel hung the bomber jacket on a hook on the door and tossed her wet blouse and bra on the floor. She took off her shoes, folded her jeans, and turned on the water in the shower. Soon, as steam was billowing inside the stall, Rachel stepped in and let the hot water wash across her face. She tilted her face upwards to receive the refreshing and relaxing spray. After she'd washed her hair and her body she felt energized and less intimidated by her circumstances. But she still couldn't believe she was in Sherrie's shower, naked. She thought again about the kiss as her hand wandered down between her legs, the slick moisture affirming her desire for the captivating woman in the next room. She edged herself, wanting to feel the euphoria of the moment, as suddenly, and unexpectedly, an orgasm ripped through her, causing her to put her hand against the glass wall of the shower to steady herself. Her heart was racing, and she let the spray of the shower bring her back to earth. She stepped out, dried herself, and wrapped a towel around her midsection. Unable to find a hair dryer, she stepped out of the bathroom to ask for one.